Hate You Not

“Yeah, you did. I was on birth control, but something happened.”

His mouth drops open wider. “Oh my—Fuck.” He covers his mouth. “Fuck, June.”

I laugh, slightly maniacal. “Maybe a little bit too much of that. Or maybe just enough, depending on your stance on babies. I like babies.”

“Fucking shit. June.” His eye wells as his gaze moves up and down me. “I’m so sorry.”

I grab his hand, squeezing so he doesn’t lose his shit again. “No. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m okay. I really am. But even if I wasn’t, we did this together, you know? I was there. I wanted you, desperately.”

He bows his head and closes a hand over his face. For a second, he starts breathing hard, like a football player who just took a hard hit and can’t suck air in.

“It’s okay.” I rub his palm with my thumb. “We’re okay and so is little baby.”

He lifts his head. “You’re pregnant.” He blinks, still looking totally incredulous. “Our baby. I got you pregnant!”

I laugh. “Really, we both got me pregnant.”

“Can I touch it?”

For some reason, that makes me laugh, and once I start, I can’t stop. I flop onto my back, and he gets up on his knees and spreads his palm so carefully over my lower belly. “Holy shit.” His face is still just total shock. “That’s our baby in there.” He’s panting a little, and his poor hand on my stomach trembles at the shock of it.

“That’s her or him.” I hold my thumb and forefinger about four inches apart. “They’re about like this now. Like a really small avocado, I think is this week’s fruit mascot. I have an app.”

He rubs a hand over his face and shakes his head, then winces like it hurts, and his eye fills with tears again.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Okay? Everything is A-okay, Sly.”

“When were you going to tell me?” he says softly.

“Soon,” I reassure him. “I was never gonna keep this from you. I just wasn’t sure how to tell you, since you weren’t talking to me.”

A single tear drips down his cheek. I get a glimpse of his taut face before he’s up and off the bed.

“I want to go.” He rests his palm atop the mattress and looks up at me, still on the bed. “I don’t want to be here for this.” His voice catches.

“Okay, then. Let’s go.” I slide down off the bed, too, rubbing my hand down his arm till I catch his hand. “Let’s go find a hotel. You can’t wine but you can dine your baby mama.”

He laughs so loudly, I think maybe he’s finally cracked. Then he hugs me to him. “Jesus, June. You’re really fucking something. Do you know that?”

“Something crazy. I know.”

He falters in the bedroom’s doorway. I can tell he’s somewhere heavy in his head, because for just a second, his face is full of pain. His brows draw together, and his shoulders stiffen. But then his gaze comes back to me. He laughs, rubs his forehead.

“I knocked you up.”

“You seem insistent on taking all the credit.”

He scoops my hand up, threads his fingers through mine, and leads me to the front door like we’ve got hell hounds biting our heels. He doesn’t look back as we walk down toward the car, our strides slow but steady. He keeps stealing glances at me, and I make silly faces when I catch him. Both of us are laughing by the time we reach the passenger’s side door.

“Well fucking shit,” he says.

“Well fucking shit, Sly.”Sometimes things work out different than expected—the good becomes real bad real quick, or a bad thing turns itself around.

We end up at the Cow Hollow Rollin’ Motel, a two-star, two-story, weird ass stucco establishment that’s got a skating rink attached because…why not a skating rink? We don’t even make a go of that, Burke being temporarily half blind and me being in the family way.

Our room’s on the first floor by the vending machines, and we make good use of that by loading up on Cheetos, cans of Dr. Pepper, and some mints, since Burke’s obsessed with having fresh breath.

We lie on the lumpy bed with mildew-scented air blowing on us and a funny sort of watermelon smell tinging the air, and Burke pulls down my pants and leans his head down low so he can see the contour of my belly.

I wrap my hand around his arm and and bring his hand to me. “Might be better to feel it.”

“Is he or she kicking yet?”

I smile. “Not quite. But maybe soon, like in the next few weeks.”

“You’re pregnant,” he says with a crazed grin on his face.

“Knocked up with a pea in the pod. A bun in the oven.” I cup my hand over his. “There’s a little baby in there. I was feeling pretty nervous about telling you, but you don’t seem like you’re too upset.”